


Washed Back In With The Tide

by orphan_account



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3565493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I had a life to go live! I couldn't sit around Henrietta crying over Gansey forever,” Adam argued. His mouth was hanging open in indignation.<br/>“How are you enjoying your life now?” Ronan asked. He was yelling slightly, but he didn't really care. Almost everyone attending the funeral had left, but the few people still lingering around the church were staring at the display. “How are you enjoying your fucking Rolls-Royce?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Washed Back In With The Tide

After Gansey died, none of them had the guts to look at each other. Adam went away to school on another fancy scholarship. Blue was off in South America studying ecology or something. Noah had slowly faded. Ronan only returned to Cabeswater to visit Aurora now. Mostly he stayed at the Barns. He didn't leave. There was no reason to leave, besides visiting what little family he had left and occasionally getting drunk with Kavinsky's old crew. But today, he was back in Henrietta.

Adam had probably heard about it on the news, or from a cousin or some other relative in the town. Nineteen-year-old Matthew Lynch had died, dropped dead, been perfectly healthy until he had suddenly stopped breathing.

Ronan knew why. He had been experimenting with different ways to control the energy of the ley line. He had decided to give this thing with his mother one final hurdle. He shouldn't have been so greedy. He should have known when to stop. He didn't succeed in freeing Aurora. What he did succeed in, was cutting himself off from certain creations of his, unplugging their energy source. These creations included his brother.

And now here Ronan was at the funeral, and here was Adam. He hadn't talked to Ronan – they hadn't talked in four years – hadn't even tried to make it obvious that he was here, because he must have known that Ronan would have recognized him. Four years later, and Ronan would have recognized him anywhere, even though he looked hardly the same. His hair was cut shorter and neater, and he wore a dark suit with a tie. His shoes looked like they cost more than the piece-of-shit car he used to drive back when they went to Aglionby. He had an airbrushed brunette clinging to his arm. Ronan swallowed, forcing himself to look away. This day was about Matthew. He owed it to Matthew to at least pay attention to the funeral service. After all, his entire life and death had been Ronan's fault.

And then, when the tables were being cleared away after the reception, Adam finally came to speak to him. He had taken so long to initiate this conversation that Ronan had begun to assume it wouldn't happen. He pressed his trembling hands to the sides of his pants, trying to steady them, trying not to look like a complete loser in front of Adam Fucking Parrish, the boy who ran away. None of this newfound wealth looked good on him. It was sleek, but underneath, it stank of rot. It was a lie. Or maybe, somewhere among the Armani and Rolls-Royce, Adam's truth had begun to reflect that lie, begun to become it. Who was he? Ronan wasn't sure he wanted to find out. It felt a little masochistic, going to talk to him, risking destroying one of his most cherished memories. And yet he would never miss the chance in a million years.

“Ronan,” Adam's voice was rough. Or maybe he was imagining it. Adam extended his hand, and it took Ronan a long moment to realize that Adam was actually inviting him to fucking shake his hand. This new version of Adam was making Ronan increasingly disconcerted.

“Parrish,” Ronan said. He titled his chin toward the girlfriend. Wife? He couldn't breathe.

Adam took the hint a bit late. “Oh!” he said, fake enthusiasm making up for his delay, “this is Angela”.

“So, uh, how long have you two been together?” Ronan asked, still avoiding look directly at the woman's face. Or any other part of her anatomy. This was a funeral, for god's sake. She didn't have to dress like that.

“Since August,” she said, smiling sweetly.

“It _is_ August,” Ronan felt compelled to point out.

“Well, the beginning of August. What does it matter?” Now she seemed annoyed. This made Ronan feel more smug than he cared to admit.

“Well, I guess we should be going,” Adam said. Ronan stood there, listening to the clicking of Angela's heels receding down the hallway, synchronized with the thud of Adam's expensive shoes. Fuck Adam. _Fuck Adam._

Ronan followed the crowd outside. His skin was crawling in this building, its walls calling out to him: _murderer, murderer, murderer_. He tried not to watch Adam and his plaything get into his shiny car, opening and slamming each door simultaneously. God, did they do everything like that? Who was this person? Ronan thought of Declan's high school days for one sickening second, of the way his brother had been before he'd settled down. They still didn't talk much, Ronan and Declan, had neatly avoided each other at the service today, but things were better between them.

He kept watching, but the car didn't drive away. After a few minutes, the driver's side door opened, and Adam burst out. It took Ronan a minute to realize that Adam was actually running towards him. All of his breath instantly vacated his lungs.

“Parrish, we meet again,” he said, voice like ice. He was surprised to note that Adam seemed to have lost some of his earlier composure.

“Ronan, I am so, so-”

“Who the hell are you?” Ronan asked.

Adam froze. “What?”

“Adam,” Ronan said, “you are not like this. What the fuck is going on with you?”

“You don't know me anymore,” Adam said. “This is who I am now. If you don't like it, I don't see what problem that is of mine. It's been four fucking years, you loser, and you haven't so much as picked up the phone to call-”

“Neither have you.” Ronan crossed his arms over his chest.

They were silent for a minute, staring at each other, Adam out of breath from having run, and Ronan out of breath because it was _Adam_. Adam, who still appeared in his lonely dreams sometimes. But that Adam, the eighteen-year-old version of Adam; and this Adam, they were not the same creature.

“I think we should...I mean, can we talk?” Adam said. “Is it okay with you if we talk?”

Ronan ignored this. “You were the one who left,” he said. “I've been here this whole time. You were the one who freaked out and ran away.”

“I had a life to go live! I couldn't sit around Henrietta crying over Gansey forever,” Adam argued. His mouth was hanging open in indignation.

“How are you enjoying your life now?” Ronan asked. He was yelling slightly, but he didn't really care. Almost everyone attending the funeral had left, but the few people still lingering around the church were staring at the display. “How are you enjoying your fucking Rolls-Royce?”

“I cannot believe you're lecturing me about money! Entitled rich brats like yourself never had to work for these things! That car over there is my life,” Adam said. “It is everything I was working for the whole time I was at Aglionby, and you can't even be fucking happy for me. Do you know how much money I make every month? _No one_ pities Adam Parrish anymore.”

“I do,” Ronan said, and he meant it.

Adam opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He just kept staring at Ronan, wide-eyed. Then Ronan heard footsteps behind them.

“What the hell is going on here?” Angela asked.

“ _Not now_ ,” Adam and Ronan exclaimed in unison.

“What did you just say?”

Adam turned to face her. “Honey, now is a really bad time. Can you please just go for a second? This is really important.”

She turned to glare at Ronan, rolling her eyes. Then she turned back to Adam. “You're always being such a dick,” she spat, and turned away. She strode off towards the parking lot. “I'm leaving with your car,” she called over her shoulder.

“Go ahead,” Adam said, probably not even loud enough to for her to hear. He returned his gaze to Ronan. “I don't know what the hell I ever did to you to make you act like such an asshole. I guess that's just a part of the Ronan Lynch package, huh?”

This was going so wrong. So, so wrong. Ronan squeezed his eyes shut for a second to collect himself. His hands were in fists. He unclenched them before he let himself speak again.

“Just, just, get in my car and we can talk. Remember back when I paid your rent and you kept saying you would pay me back someday? Well, this is me cashing that in. Please, Adam.” Ronan reached out a hand to touch Adam's arm lightly, and Adam jumped. What the hell was he doing? This day was becoming progressively more nightmarish.

But he was granted one bit of fortune: Adam looked at him for a long time, eyebrows furrowed, remembering...and then Adam said yes.

* * *

They were silent. It didn't take long to drive there. He hadn't been back in four years, but he could have found his way in his sleep. As soon as the building came into sight, Adam realized where they were going.

“Monmouth?” he breathed.

“No one lives there,” Ronan said. “It belongs to the Henrietta district, technically, but...”

“It's good to see your high regard for the law hasn't changed,” Adam said. He laughed weakly at his own joke, but Ronan didn't. This moment felt too significant for comedy.

Ronan lifted the doorknob and twisted it to the side. “Guess they never bothered fixing the lock either,” he said. There was a click, and he swung the door open. The lights were out, but there was still some evening sunlight filtering through the dirty wall of windowpanes. There were cobwebs everywhere – coating the chairs, the pool table, and other miscellaneous junk that Mr. And Mrs. Gansey hadn't deemed worthy of retrieving from the warehouse.

“Whoa,” Adam said. He was craning his head, looking around in that way that had once been reserved for people viewing Gansey's apartment for the first time. Now Adam was a stranger here. Ronan had been away just as long, but he'd spent much more time here than Adam. He didn't need to look at it. He felt it.

Adam walked over the the wall of windows and put his hands and forehead against the glass. He leaned over and looked out upon Henrietta. “It hasn't really changed,” he said.

Ronan snorted. “You haven't been back to know if it would have,” he replied. There was silence again. It was a far different thing from the easy silence that had often accompanied their teenage nights spent in Adam's room over the St. Agnes rectory. This was an uncomfortable silence, a heavy silence, and every minute spent in it was a mile spent falling apart from one another.

“Are you...feeling okay and all?” Adam asked hoarsely.

Ronan glared at him, mouth a blanched line. “My little brother died,” he said. “I'm feeling fucking wonderful, obviously.” He would not cry, he would not cry, he would not cry. He hadn't shed a single tear during the burial, nor during the eulogies, nor during the argument in the church parking lot. He definitely would not break down now. He would not-

And suddenly Adam's arms were around him. Ronan hadn't seem him move to position them there, but there they were, and they were strong and gentle and familiar, and beneath that wretched cologne Adam still smelled like _Adam_ , and that was the thing that finally made Ronan smile a little. He was no longer a ship lost out at sea. For the duration of this embrace, he was able to see the shore, and it didn't matter that he knew he would never reach it. This confirmation that all of his memories of Adam had been _real_ was enough of a gift to sustain him. It was getting more difficult for Ronan to distinguish between the two these days; dreams and reality. He remembered one particular night spent sleeping on the floor of Adam's apartment, the blisteringly hot summer forcing them to remove their shirts if they were to even attempt sleep, his hand edging slowly over towards Adam's, even more slowly taking hold of it, thinking that maybe Adam was asleep, but then Adam opening his eyes and looking into Ronan's, returning his grip. They lay there all night like that. Ronan didn't dare sleep, risk missing a second of it. His heart had felt uncaged in his chest. He had never wanted to let go of Adam Parrish, yet in the morning he had, and both of them pretended it had never happened. Love was risk, and apparently Ronan was a shitty gambler.

Years of days wasted trying to free his mother from her prison in the forest. Years of nights spent getting drunk alone. Endless dreams of a boy with engine grease on his hands and eyes the colour of dirt. He wanted to leave the past behind, but it was always catching up with him. Things couldn't get more fucked up than this. There was no risk _left_. He closed his eyes and nipped gently at Adam's bottom lip. Adam exhaled sharply, but didn't pull away. Ronan mashed his lips against Adam's, pushing him to respond. And when he recovered from his shock, he did. Not that it should have been a surprise to Adam. Adam had _known_. Adam had known all along. Only, Adam had probably thought it was over for Ronan. Because the thing about Adam Parrish was, deep down, he could never truly force himself to believe that other people could actually care about him. Ronan wanted to show him, once and for all, what he had never had the nerve to put into words. Everything he had wanted to tell Adam back at Aglionby was being translated into this kiss, into the language of their lips melting together in the half-light filtering in through the dusty windowpanes of Monmouth Manufacturing, back where it all began.

Ronan never wanted it to end, but after one minute or ten or an hour, Adam broke away. Ronan grabbed his hands. “I was in love with you,” he said.

“I know,” Adam replied.

“So...?” Ronan asked, trying not to let the hope in his chest leak through his eyes too much.

“I can't do this,” Adam said. “You know I can't, or I would have.”

“Why not? Is it your fucking pride telling you that?”

“My fucking pride is the only reason I'm living a life that I actually have the nerve to be proud of,” Adam said. His voice was flat.

“So you're just going to leave?”

“I don't know. I don't know what I want,” Adam muttered. He rubbed at his forehead with his hand.

Ronan nodded. He looked away. Some wrecks were unsalvageable. Sometimes all you had to hold onto were the bits that washed back in with the tide.

“You never did,” he said.

 


End file.
